


Sparring

by Solanaceae



Series: Femslash Friday [4]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/F, Femslash Friday, actually submitting something on a friday, rivalry ship, that's a step in the right direction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-13
Updated: 2013-09-13
Packaged: 2017-12-26 12:06:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/965739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Solanaceae/pseuds/Solanaceae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A sword bout between best rivals leads to the exact right things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sparring

“Father has been ordering the forging of swords. Did you know that?”

Galadriel barely diverted her gaze from the book in her lap, only glancing up long enough to take in the dark haired elf standing before her, a bare blade in her hands and another sheathed at her hip. There was a curiously determined expression on Aredhel’s face, and Galadriel almost wondered why she had come to her, of all people, with this particular news. Then again, wondering about her intentions implied that she actually  _cared_  – and that was something she’d never admit to.

“And you tell me this because…?” She turned a page in her book, feigning disinterest, knowing it would irritate her cousin. She loved watching Aredhel’s face flush red with anger, see the quiver of indignation at the corners of her mouth – and her skill at coaxing forth this reaction perhaps made up for the fact that Aredhel knew  _just_  where to strike her in their verbal sparring matches, knew exactly what to say to bring her own temper flaring to the surface.

Sure enough, Aredhel took a step forward, presenting the blade in her hands for Galadriel’s inspection. “Father gave me one today.”

Galadriel shot a pointed glance at the scabbard at Aredhel’s hip, the hilt banging into her arm every time she moved. “Looks more like two swords to me. Or didn’t he ever teach you how to count?”

Aredhel’s lip curled and she reached to her belt, unbuckled the second sword. “I thought you’d like to spar with me, cousin. But perhaps you are afraid of getting your dress dirty?” She threw the sword into Galadriel’s lap, a clear challenge in her voice.

_Oh, well played, Iressë._

Galadriel set aside her book, hands clenched around the cover to keep them from shaking, then stood, lifting the sword and turning it over and over in her hands, examining it. She had sparred with Aredhel before, of course, though never with live steel – it would add a certain  _interest_.

“Going to stand there all day and admire the metalwork?” Aredhel drawled, the tip of her sword tracing a tight circle dangerously close to Galadriel’s hip. “Or are you going to get a move on?”

Galadriel responded by drawing the sword in one smooth motion, letting the sheath fall to the grass beside her. Her blade blurred as she darted forward, tracing a silver arc through the air, and Aredhel’s sword leapt to counter her blow, a tremendous noise echoing through the air as the steel blades clashed, locking together.

She felt Aredhel forcing her sword down and away and she disengaged, pulling back. Aredhel’s sword became a whirlwind of flashing steel, battering at her defenses, attacks coming almost as fast as Galadriel could parry them.

There was a flicker of silver at the corner of her vision, and a sudden stinging pain. She felt something warm trickle down her cheek, bright red spattering the grass, and she realized Aredhel had scratched her. There was a gleam of satisfaction in the shorter elf’s eyes as she pressed Galadriel back, sword a blur.

 _Like_ hell _you’re going to win this one, Ireth._

She took another step back and pretended to stumble, dipping her sword low and ducking under Aredhel’s sweeping cut. There was a brief flash of startled thought – _that stroke could have cut my head clean off my shoulders, is she actually trying to_ kill _me?_  – but there was no fear, only a curious sort of exhilaration.

Her next strike drew blood at Aredhel’s shoulder, dark red spreading across the white fabric with alarming speed. The one after that, Aredhel managed to block, and Galadriel bore down on her sword, trapping the blades between them, face suddenly inches from her cousin’s, flushed with exertion and anger and complete fearlessness, a blazing fire in her star-blue eyes.

She wasn’t sure who moved first (and maybe they had both moved, together) but when their mouths met it was somehow no different from their sparring – all warring tongues and clashing teeth, battling for supremacy, neither of them willing to back down.

Galadriel heard Aredhel drop her sword and did the same, reaching up to tangle her fingers in dark curls, crushing Aredhel’s lips against hers, sudden heat flaring along every nerve of her body. She felt Aredhel’s lips curve in a satisfied smile against hers as she pressed her hands up under her shirt, resting her fingers on the bare, hot skin of her back and digging her nails in, just a little – like a promise.

Aredhel pulled away long enough to say, “We never finished sparring. Don’t think you can distract me so easily, Artanis.”

“We’ll finish later.” Galadriel folded her to the ground, hands slipping lower, and Aredhel nodded, and smiled.

 


End file.
